


Place Your Trust

by Kira_K



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Gen, Male Friendship, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 19:58:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kira_K/pseuds/Kira_K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reid decides he and Jackson need to talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Place Your Trust

“Jackson, we need to speak.” Reid issues the order as he does everything: self-assured of it being followed. And he is right to be self-assured, for Jackson merely puts the plier down from his hand and turns toward the Inspector. Who is more foreboding than ever. (That is impressive in itself and, also, a clue.) 

“What about?” Jackson drawls, leaning against a table. 

“You, Captain,” Reid closes the door behind him and starts forward. He doesn’t stop three-steps-away as usual but gets into Jackson’s face and now the doctor can see how his eyes are burning with fury. “You pulled a gun at me. And at my sergeant!” 

“That was days ago!” Jackson protests and slips to the side, avoiding confrontation. He is a smart coward; he knows when to hit and when to run. And when Goodnight came after him and his Susan (Caitlin is only a sweet memory these days just as Matthew) with a dozen men it was time to flee. He needed the ring back and he knew well enough that Reid would not simply hand it over without incentive. And the damned man was immune to his boyish charm, nor did he accept money. (As the previous couple of days showed: it was either Reid’s way or the highway.) 

“It was, yes.” Reid follows him, until Jackson is backed against a corner and a cupboard. The Inspector continues to speak in a low voice, only a thin layer of calm is covering his anger. “And I have allowed you time to make your peace with Drake, or to speak to me. You did neither!” 

Reid barks the last and Jackson startles for a moment. Then he slowly, gently pushes at the Inspector’s chest, trying to get some room. He remembers well, the last time he touched the Inspector without leave he ended on the ground with blood in his mouth before being slammed against the wall. (He remembers everything he ever learnt or heard. It is his curse.) He remembers but it simply makes him careful not spineless. “Had I known you wanted an apology I’d have said: Sorry.” Words don’t cost anything. “Satisfied?” 

Reid seems to consider hitting him before he lets go of his anger. After an icy glance at Jackson’s hands he brushes them off his chest and doesn’t step away. “You need to understand something, Captain Jackson. Trust needs to go both ways. Do you understand me, Jackson? You place your trust in me and mine, and I’ll protect you.” 

Jackson snorts, he cannot help himself. It is not that he disbelieves the Inspector but that he knows all he has to know about this so-called-protection. His wrists still ache with the phantom pain of the cuffs. “By putting me behind your bars? No, Reid, I’d rather run and be free; than safe and locked in.” He could continue to talk but there is no need for that. Reid’s face falls (such an expressive face when the Inspector bothers having an emotional response) and Jackson looks aside. He cannot bear to look at it and after a long moment of silence he says softly, “I consider you my friends, you and Drake.” It is less than what the Inspector wants but it is all Jackson can offer now. 

Reid considers the words before allowing a slight nod in reply. “Good. And don’t forget it.” There is an imbalance between them and Jackson knows it better than most how fragile their friendship is. The slightest of smiles that grace Reid’s face still curls around his heart like a flicker of smoke from his cigarettes. He scrambles for his pockets and puts one in his mouth. “Was there anything else, Inspector?” he asks once the tobacco leaves are burning. There is space between them and Jackson doesn’t remember when Reid moved. He takes off his apron and reaches for his coat and hat. “If not, then if you’d excuse me, I need to buy a drink for Drake.”

“He likes good whiskey,” Reid says. Jackson considers asking if the good Inspector had been forced to buy a glass of the good stuff for his sergeant or it was a lucky guess but in the end he lets it go. It doesn’t matter. He nods his thanks and locks the room behind them.


End file.
